


Misery Loves Company

by iRockYourSocks



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Breakups, F/M, Friendship, Oneshot, Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iRockYourSocks/pseuds/iRockYourSocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is messy, and Sokka learns that it doesn't always mean happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Loves Company

**Author's Note:**

> Posted from my tumblr

_Four and Five_

Sokka hates it when his mom makes him wear his “fancy” clothes, because that just means that he can’t play with his boomerang like he really wants to. But no, he sighs as his mom brushes down the stray hairs that have fallen out of his neat combover, he has to meet with one of his mom’s friends from college.

She said that the lady has kids his age too.

He hopes they aren’t stupid girls. He doesn’t need another Katara.

Sokka fidgets by the door, his fingers itching for  _something_ , whether it be food or a toy, and scrunches up his face when Katara pinches his arm in a gesture that practically screamed  _knock it off_.

So he stands there.

And waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

He faintly hears the sound of wheels going over the gravel in the front, but at this point Sokka is basically asleep with his eyes open, his attention span dwindled to nothing.

His mom perks up and runs out the door, embracing a paler woman with dark, sleek hair and two smaller bodies behind her.

One is a boy, more than likely his age, his dark hair covering his eyes.

The other kid, a girl probably probably Katara’s age, isn’t worth looking at. Sokka doesn’t want to spend this  _forced_ outing with a stupid girl. She can hang out with Katara and play with dolls or have tea parties or whatever it is  _girls_ do.

Her golden gaze skims from Katara over to him, and he immediately straightens his posture, chin raised and eyes narrowed.

Yeah, she is a stupid girl, and he can tell from that one look that she is trouble.

_Thirteen and Fourteen_

Sokka feels  _incredibly_ uncomfortable around Azula.

Before, she was Zuko’s kind of scary kid sister that hung out with his annoying and bossy kid sister, but when the siblings returned from their vacation (their first since Zuko’s accident two years ago) Azula looked  _different_.

And by different he obviously means the visible  _additions_ to her anatomy.

She’s still the same, that much is certain (still mocks him and his humor, speaks with the same condescending tone that she’s had since they met), but when her and Katara flaunt down the stares in their bathing suits to go with Ursa to the beach on a girl’s day out, Sokka has to excuse himself (ignoring the heated blush on his friend’s face and the way Katara glances away shyly) to his room. The game can wait a few minutes.

Because somewhere in a matter of a few weeks, Azula became dangerous.

Because she’s beautiful, always has been, and it took him nine years to realize that he might like his best friend’s little sister.

_Fifteen and Sixteen_

Sokka grins as he grabs another drink, taking a swig before roping his arm around Zuko’s shoulders (which, by the way, have yet to relax). He shakes him, earning a scowl from his best friend (they made quite the pair, these two). “Lighten up! This party is going to be the  _only_ thing the school will talk about for  _months_!”

Zuko shrugs, sighing and reaching for a cup. “Yeah, maybe you’d feel like that if this was at  _your_ house. I just…I just don’t want anybody breaking anything. I don’t want anybody getting  _hurt_.” He glares at something, or someone, over Sokka’s head and huffs. “You know what, I’m going to get a drink.”

Sokka frowns, curious, but Zuko will tell him whatever is bothering him in due time. He pats his back though,  _there’s the spirit_ , and walks around to mingle.

He sees Azula talking to the captain of the lacrosse team and shudders. The guy had less brain cells than a rock, and knowing Azula, he knows that Chan was going to have his hands full.

He takes another swig, his mind a little hazy, and wanders into the living room, laughing with guys in the theater department.

He shouldn’t care that Azula was talking to some guy. It’s never bothered him before.

He raises his cup to his lips before realizing that it was empty. Strange, because he doesn’t remember finishing it. 

Maybe he was a bit more tipsy than he’d previously thought.

He shrugs, walking towards the table with the punch. It’s a party, he can drink if he wants to.

…

When Sokka drunkenly stumbles into the closest room, he did  _not_ expect to see his sister pressed into the wall, fingers tightly knotted in some guy’s hair, leg hitched around his thigh, mouths latched together. He had half a mind to beat the shit out of the guy, because  _how dare he_ touch his baby sister like that, until he recognized his profile when his mouth moved down Katara’s neck.

“ _Zuko_?” he sputters in absolute shock, but then, somewhere is the deep recesses of his alcohol-muddled mind, it all just  _made sense_. The longing glances, the blushes whenever Katara was around… “ _Katara_ is the girl that you’ve had the hots for?!”

The couple freezes for a blink until they untangle themselves, Katara pushing him away and straightening her clothing. She looks at Zuko, her face deeply flushed, before moving towards the door, brushing against Sokka’s shoulder with the coldest look she could muster. 

If looks could kill.

Zuko wipes  a hand down his face, leaning into the wall.

"What’d I do?"

A groan.

Note to self, always knock first.

…

He trips around the party, laughing at things that aren’t even _remotely_ funny, and bumps into Azula, who hisses when some of his drink (hey, when did he get another refill?) almost sloshes onto her shirt.

"You’re clumsier than usual," she drawls, her fingertips lightly grazing his chest in a halfhearted attempt to steady him. "Were you thirsty tonight, r are you just being an idiot?"

He grins at her, which warrants a raised eyebrow from her. “I’m just having a good time,” he slurs, teetering in place.

Azula purses her lips, “You should learn to hold your liquor better, Sokka.”

"You aren’t the boss of me, and damn it, stop speaking to me like I’m a child. I do what I want." To emphasize his point, he crosses his arms and pouts at her, the epitome of  _adult_.

"Shut up, you’re drunk, and I’m taking you home." She grabs his arm and pulls him through the party, weaving around the drunk, sweaty bodies to find the front door.

"I saw them, Zuko and Katara," he suddenly blurts out when they step outside. Azula didn’t respond. "I saw them kissing. Why aren’t you saying anything?"

"Because I was the one that told him where to find her," she says offhandedly, opening the car door and all but pushing him in.

She slams the door, effectively muffling his screeched exclamation of  _what_ and climbs into the car. “Relax, they’ve liked each other since we were children. I just gave them the nudge they needed.” He sputters, and she rolls her eyes. “Just be glad that it’s Zuzu and not somebody else.”

She backs out and puts the car into drive. “ _We’ve_ known each other since we were kids, and  _that’s_ never happened!”

Silence.

"Azula."

"I don’t have time for your drunken nonsense."

“ _Azula_ -“

“ _What?_ ”

A beat.

"Never mind."

"For the love of-"

"Have you ever thought about that? About us?"

Her hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Don’t be an idiot.” She stops the car and unlocks the door. “You’re home. Get out.”

Sokka looks thoughtful, hand on the handle. His eyes meet hers, glazed cobalt clashing with cold gold, and without thinking he plants his lips on hers, tongue snaking its way into her mouth.

He can feel her stiffen at the unexpected contact before gently pressing her lips to his and pushing his shoulders away. “Your mouth tastes disgusting. Get out of my car.”

He grunts, running his tongue over his bottom lip. His mouth opens, then closes, shaking his head as he leaves the car and stumbles into his house.

"Idiot," she mutters, swiping her finger across her mouth.

…

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks as he slips his hands under her tank top, hands fisted in her inky locks as her lips slide over his, gasping into his mouth.

No, he came by to apologize for anything stupid he did the week before when he was drunk (and to avoid the Zuko-Katara loved fest his house became).

One thing led to another, years of suppressed feelings and harsh words (on her part) force them together in this frenzied meeting of lips.

Sokka wonders why they’d never talked about this before.

When she moans his name in his ear, he decides that the past didn’t matter as long as he had this infuriating girl in his lap.

…

She always pulls away when he tries to hold her hand.

…

Zuko and Katara look happy, sickeningly so. They fight (rough fights that never end in something  _not_ being broken), but when they make up, the fights fade away to the recesses of their memory.

Sokka doesn’t think that him and Azula are good for each other. They make each other more miserable than anything, but the small moments of pure bliss and that makes it worth it.

Or so he tells himself.

  
_Sixteen and Seventeen_.

He can feel her glaring holes in his back, but he ignores it, happy looking down into the deep indigo eyes of Suki. He squeezes her fingers in between his, chuckling when she presses a sweet kiss to his jaw.

 _This_ is what happiness is supposed to feel like, as easy as breathing fresh spring air. He loves Suki, loves the relationship that they’ve built, loves the way that she patched him up after his disastrous romance with Azula.

So when Azula sends hateful stares his way, he doesn’t acknowledge them, doesn’t acknowledge her.

She should be happy that he’s  _finally_ happy. 

She owes him that much.

…

"I still love you, you know."

"Yeah, i know."


End file.
